


Wet Wings

by Gemmiel



Series: Wet Wings [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, PWP, Shower Sex, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel saves Dean from an explosion, debris is caught in his wings. Dean helps him clean his feathers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Just your basic wing!kink/shower sex sort of story, with no plot whatsoever. There is no specific timeframe for this story.

Castiel was… twitching.

Dean had been stretched out in a motel room, trying to watch _Dr. Sexy_ instead of thinking about the way he’d narrowly missed being blown to pieces. Hunters couldn't afford to dwell on how they might have died, not when they came close to death with almost every hunt. It was a lot more pleasant to think about the handsome Dr. Sexy. But Cas' annoyed, jerky movements distracted him from the drama on the screen, and he muted the television and frowned at the angel, who was sitting on the other bed.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

It was a reasonable question, considering the werewolf Dean had been hunting had just blown up a warehouse, with him in it. He'd been hunting alone, because Sam had gone to California to help an old friend with a ghost problem. If Cas hadn’t appeared out of nowhere, tackled Dean to the ground, and surrounded them both with his protective mojo, Dean would be a plume of smoke about now. 

The hunter had ganked the werewolf immediately afterward, and he and Cas had climbed into the Impala and driven back to his hotel room. Cas had seemed okay at first, but he was becoming increasingly twitchy. As far as Dean knew, angels couldn’t be hurt by anything so mundane as an explosion—but he’d be the first to admit he didn’t know much about angels. He frowned more deeply, concerned for his friend.

“I am…” Cas squirmed, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. “Fine.”

Dean flipped off the TV and sat up, studying the angel more closely for injuries. “You’re obviously not fine. What’s wrong? Got an injury somewhere?”

“Not an injury, no.” Cas reached behind himself, scratching irritably at his back. “It’s just that… there is debris in my wings.”

“Your wings?” Dean echoed, puzzled.

Cas cocked his head. “How did you think I protected you from the blast, Dean? I wrapped my wings around you.”

“Kinky,” Dean snarked automatically, and then wished he hadn’t. Because having an angel’s wings around him did sound kind of… intimate. His cheeks heated.

Cas gave him the narrow-eyed look that meant he was inches away from smiting the hunter. “If it had not been for my wings,” he said with the majestic, _I-am-an-angel-puny-human_ air he sometimes assumed, “you would be dead now.”

“Yeah. I know. I got that.” Dean looked at him more closely, but he saw nothing, not even a shimmer in the air behind him. “The thing is, I didn’t realize you actually had wings.”

“You have seen the shadows, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know they were real. I mean, _really_ real. I always thought the shadows were an illusion meant to scare people, or something.”

“Humans cannot see my wings in their entirety unless I permit it.” Cas rolled his shoulders irritably and clawed at the air behind him. “But believe me, they are definitely real.”

“Can’t you just mojo away any dirt?”

“Not when it has lodged in my wings.” Cas shifted uncomfortably. “They are a manifestation of my grace. I cannot use my grace to clean my grace. It doesn’t work that way, unfortunately.”

“Then why don’t you do like us lowly humans, and try the shower?”

Cas fixed him with a look of condescending disgust. “Dean, do you have any idea how large my wings are?”

“Not a clue, dude. I've never seen 'em.”

Cas scowled at him, and the air behind him began to ripple. Slowly, a pair of huge white wings appeared. They were long and powerful, very much like enormous swan wings. Dean was aware his mouth had fallen open, but he couldn’t seem to close it. He said, very softly, “Holy shit.”

“I will take that as a compliment.” Cas stretched back an arm, clearly straining to reach something lodged in his wings, and made a face of irritation when he couldn’t grasp it. “This vessel,” he snarled, “is not flexible enough…”

He flapped his wings ferociously, so hard that a wind blew through the room, making Dean's notes on the werewolf fly. “Whoa,” Dean said, raising a hand and coughing at the dust Cas had dislodged from his feathers. “Hang on there, dude. You’re gonna blow this crappy old motel down. Let me see if I can help, okay?”

There was barely enough room to get past the outstretched wings, but he managed it. He sat down on the bed behind Cas and considered the problem. It looked like Cas’ wings were ordinarily a pure, snowy white, but now they were coated with a thick layer of dust. There were extra-grimy patches here and there, and even some chunks of debris trapped amongst the feathers.

Dean reached for a particularly big piece of wood, then hesitated. “Is it okay if I touch them?”

“If you can get the worst of it out…” Cas’ wings rippled with irritation. "I would be most appreciative." 

“Okay. Hang on.” He gently dislodged the splintered chunk of wood and smoothed the feathers back into place. Cas gave a sigh of relief.

“That is an improvement. Thank you, Dean.”

“Don't thank me yet. There’s a bunch of other crap back here.” Dean busied himself digging out debris—rough-edged wood, shredded drywall, and even a few fragments of metal. None of it seemed to have done any real damage, but the feathers were askew, and a few were loose. Dean pulled those out gently, and right in front of his eyes new ones grew in, so white they almost glowed. The snowy whiteness of the new feathers made it clearer than before how filthy the rest of Cas’ wings were.

“Dude,” Dean said, “you have got to clean these off somehow. Are you sure you can’t fit them into the shower?”

“Even if I could manage that, I could not reach them to clean them.”

Dean considered the problem. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s run them under water, one at a time, and I’ll soap them up for you, then we can rinse them. Okay?”

Cas lowered his wings and looked back at Dean over his shoulder. Dean could have sworn his cheeks were reddening. "That is not necessary,” he said. “They feel better now that you have removed the foreign matter.”

“Yeah, but you’re still covered in dust, buddy. That can’t be real comfortable.”

“If I go outside and flap them…”

“It’s still not going to get all this dirt out. Come on, Cas.” He got to his feet and tugged the angel lightly by a wing. “Let me help you get clean. It’s the least I can do, considering you got in this condition while saving my neck.”

Cas hesitated, then rose to his feet and followed him toward the bathroom.

*****

Getting a ten-foot-long wing under the shower spray was something of a chore. The motel bathroom had a narrow tub with a showerhead. Dean shoved the vinyl shower curtain out of the way and told Cas to lose his clothes. “Everything except your underwear,” he hastily clarified, and Cas nodded. In the blink of an eye his clothes vanished, and he stood there wearing plain white boxers. Dean stripped off his own shirt, feeling kind of weird about it, and turned on the water. He ran it hot, then tugged on Cas’ wing. “This way.”

Cas obediently backed up till he was standing next to the tub. He folded his left wing so that it hung toward the floor, and Dean pushed at it, working it over the edge of the tub, until it was under the water streaming from the showerhead. Cas gave a startled jolt.

“Too hot?” Dean asked.

“No. It is just… more pleasant than I imagined it would be.”

“Never took a shower before, I guess.”

“I have never needed to. This vessel remains clean as long as I will it to.”

Dean looked down at the dirt swirling down the drain. “Well, your wings are a disgusting mess. But this is helping. Let me grab the soap…” He began unwrapping the motel soap, then hesitated. “Is this gonna be okay for your wings, Cas? I mean, soap kind of strips oil out, I think. Is it gonna mess them up?”

“Let me see it.” Dean held it out, and Cas lowered his head and sniffed. “It will not damage my wings.”

“Okay.” Dean was already barefoot, and now he stepped into the tub so as to get a better angle, and began soaping down the wing, working the lather through the feathers carefully and rinsing as he went, cleaning it from top to bottom. It was a hell of a chore, considering the size of the wing, but there was dust and dirt everywhere. It was rewarding to see the cleaned areas of the wing glow white. The washed feathers were wet and scraggly, but at least they were free of crap.

By the time he had worked his way down to the enormous primary feathers, his jeans were soaked up to the knees, and Cas was standing very still. Dean glanced up at him and saw that his head was tilted back, his eyes closed, like he was kind of enjoying this. 

“Hey,” he said softly. “Anyone ever clean your wings for you before?”

“Never.” Cas’ voice was lower and more gravelly than ever. “In Heaven, it is not necessary. I can reach my own wings when I am in my true form.”

Dean tried to imagine what Cas looked like in his true form, and couldn’t. He knew from his research that the Hebrew word _seraph_ also meant _serpent._ If Cas was that flexible, maybe he really did look sort of like a snake with wings. Kind of like a dragon, maybe. That sounded totally kickass, and Dean decided he liked the idea. 

At last the great primaries glistened white, and Dean straightened up. “Okay,” he said. “I think I got it all. Does it feel okay?”

“It feels very good, Dean.”

Dean tried to ignore the hoarse note in Cas’ voice. “I don’t know if we’ve got enough towels to get this thing dry…”

“I can shake off the water,” Cas said, beginning to stretch out his wing, but Dean grabbed him by the feathers.

“Don’t you dare. It’ll be like being near a wet Saint Bernard. Let me try to get it at least partly dry with a towel, okay?”

He shut off the water, then stretched out and snagged a towel. It was coarse, the way motel towels always were, but he began scrubbing briskly, and it seemed to absorb a good deal of the water. Cas made a funny sound, and Dean stopped.

“Hey. Am I being too rough?”

“No. It is… fine.” 

Something in Cas’ voice made Dean feel very warm. Or maybe it was just the steam filling the room. All of a sudden he felt hot, prickly, uncomfortable. Like his jeans were too tight. And they still had another wing to clean.

He tried to forget all his discomfort, and let himself get lost in the tactile sensations of drying the wing, letting himself enjoy the fluffy softness of the clean feathers beneath his fingers, the warm scent of them. When the wing was more or less dry, he ran his hands through it quickly, straightening out all the feathers he’d disarranged. At last he stood back and admired his handiwork. The clean wing shone like new snow in winter sunshine--pristine, glorious.

“That’s a big improvement,” he said.

Cas twisted his neck to look back over his shoulder, and nodded in approval. “It feels much better as well. Thank you, Dean.”

“Well, we still have to clean the other wing. Turn around.”

Cas did, and Dean caught a glimpse of an unmistakable bulge in his boxers. Embarrassed, he quickly averted his gaze and moved behind Cas, his cheeks turning red. The fact that he himself had just as large a bulge in his jeans did nothing to make him feel more comfortable.

He turned on the water again and wrestled Cas' right wing under the spray of water, with some help from the angel, and then began the procedure all over again. He had a better idea what he was doing now, so it was easier, but there was no way of cleaning such an enormous wing rapidly. 

“I’m getting soaked,” he grumbled as he worked.

“Your jeans are very wet,” Cas observed. “Perhaps you should remove them.”

Yeah, because that was a great idea. Two guys in boxers in the shower together. Well, technically Cas was standing just outside the shower. Still, it didn’t seem safe, considering the way his stupid body was reacting. Like he was gay for Cas. Which he totally wasn’t. He wasn't into guys-- well, unless you counted Dr. Sexy, and he didn't. That was just fantasy. In real life, he hardly looked twice at guys.

Even so, his jeans were getting seriously uncomfortable. Just because they were wet, of course.

He took a quick break from what he was doing and peeled his jeans off. Considering how wet they were, it wasn’t easy, but he managed it. He tossed them out of the tub, onto the bathroom floor, and went back to cleaning. He’d rinsed out about as much dirt as he could, and now it was time for soap. 

He began lathering up the great wing, and this time Cas audibly moaned.

Dean’s hard-on twitched, and he almost snapped, _Could you not do that, please?_ But he knew that would lead to a discussion about sex noises and the effect they had on people, and that was a conversation he just didn’t want to have right now. He kept on lathering, and Cas kept moaning. The noises he was making were quiet, but heartfelt.

“Cas,” he said at last, and realized his voice was just about as low and gravelly as Cas’ had been. “Am I... am I hurting you?”

“No.” Cas sounded outright breathless now. “That feels—oh, Dean, that feels—"

He didn’t say _good._ He didn’t have to. Dean had heard those words in that tone from enough women in bed to understand what Cas was telling him. 

“You like this,” he said softly, caressing the wet feathers gently. 

Cas made another _ohhhh_ sound, and his wing twitched beneath Dean’s hand. “I—I like—I think—oh, _Dean._ ”

Dean found that he enjoyed hearing his name uttered in that breathless, almost desperate tone. Maybe he wasn't into guys, but he was beginning to suspect he was into Cas. He tugged gently on the feathers he was working on, and Cas made a noise that was almost a sob.

Dean was standing behind him, unable to see the angel's hard-on, but he had no trouble imagining it. He could see it in his mind's eye, pulsing visibly against the fabric of Cas’ boxers, a smear of moisture making the cotton almost transparent. He imagined placing a hand there and stroking, the same way he’d been caressing Cas’ feathers, imagined the feel of Cas jerking against his palm, and the thought almost sent him to his knees with longing.

Jesus. He needed to finish this up, now, before one or the other of them came in their boxers. He wasn’t a fucking teenager, and he wasn’t going to lose control of himself this way. He just wasn’t. Especially not over Cas, who was a guy.

Well, sort of a guy. 

He tried to envision what Cas might look like in his true form, to imagine him as a winged serpent, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Cas was standing right here in front of him, mostly naked, wings sprouting from his heavily muscled back. He looked all too human despite the swan's wings. Dean let his gaze travel downward, to the tight ass and runner’s legs, and his cock jerked harder than before.

He squeezed between the wall and the watersoaked wing, and began lathering up the front of it. Unable to stop himself, he glanced down, and saw that Cas’ hard-on was just as he’d imagined it, outlined clearly by the fabric, the blood-dark head of it visible through the translucent cotton. He could see it twitching hungrily with every stroke of Dean’s hand against the feathers.

Cas was close. _He_ was close. Goddamnit, they were both so hot, and even if Cas was sort-of-a-guy, it seemed like such a fucking waste for the two of them to have solitary orgasms when they could—

He tugged on Cas’ wing, hard, and Cas seemed to understand his unspoken demand. He staggered into the tub, stumbling in his eagerness, and all but fell against Dean, shoving him against the wall. Dean reached down, beneath the feathers, and grabbed Cas’ ass. Cas’ hips slammed forward, and then the two of them were grinding together, groaning in near-ecstasy.

Dean’s hands fumbled frantically between them, shoving down Cas’ boxers, and then his own. They both kicked them aside in rapid, frantic movements, then fell together again, stark naked and dripping wet. The velvety feel of Cas’ cock against his was so good Dean almost shot his load then and there. 

He struggled to get a grip on his self-control, gritting his teeth together. He wanted this to last, damn it. He _needed_ it to last. It felt too good for it to be over so soon.

Cas buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, making more of those high-pitched sobbing noises. His feathers were plastered against them both, soaking wet, his wings quivering with each movement of their bodies. His hands gripped Dean’s hips fiercely, and he thrust against the human in a desperate rhythm. Their cocks moved together easily, wet and slippery with water and precome and soap.

“Slow it down,” Dean said in his ear, catching his hips and trying to take back control.

“Can’t.” Cas sounded more shattered than Dean had ever imagined a warrior of God could sound. “Now, Dean… _now_ …”

“Soon.” Dean let his hands stroke through the dark, wet hair, through the drooping feathers, soothing the frantic angel. “Easy, Cas. I won’t make you wait forever. I promise.”

He reached down between their bodies and took Cas’ cock in his hand for the very first time. It was thick and hot, dripping with precome, and at the gentle caress of his hand, Cas keened, burying his face in Dean’s shoulder and trembling all over. His wings extended so hard they hit the sides of the shower with twin thuds.

Cas, Dean realized with a touch of surprise, liked being touched. He’d always thought of the angel as aloof, above such human needs as the desire for physical contact. And yet Cas had clearly enjoyed having his wings cleaned, had enjoyed the feel of Dean’s hands exploring his feathers. And now it was more than obvious that he liked Dean giving him a hand job, too. 

Dean stroked him carefully, making sure his palm was good and slick. He let his other hand play with Cas’ balls, and the sensitive spot just beneath them. Cas whimpered, trying desperately to thrust into Dean’s hand, to find the rhythm he craved, but Dean didn’t let him have it.

He let his finger trace around the sensitive head, let his thumb sweep across it in soft, teasing strokes. Cas was dripping precome copiously now, and Dean smeared it all around, teasing the delicate flesh, then let his thumb press deep into the slit at the tip. Cas wailed, and his cock jerked violently.

He was babbling now, _please Dean please_ interspersed with words Dean didn’t know, but which he presumed were pleas in Enochian. His wings fluttered, slamming rhythmically against the tiled walls.

Dean could feel himself growing unbearably hard, and he knew he couldn’t stand to wait much longer. He’d never seen anything more exciting than Castiel, angel of the Lord, begging him for an orgasm. It was better than any porno he’d ever watched, so… fucking… _hot_ …

He realized he was lost, and barely had the presence of mind to wrap his hand around the both of them, stroking hard. He could feel their cocks throbbing in time against his palm, could hear Cas sobbing, the sound of his wings thrashing faster and faster, and he knew they were going to come together…

“Fuck,” he ground out, and Cas groaned something in Enochian that sounded equally obscene, and then the two of them came like a single entity, hot and hard, come spattering everywhere. Dean’s head dropped back against the tiles, and he heard himself crying out to the ceiling, while Cas fell silent, only the repeated thudding of his wings against the walls giving voice to the pleasure of his climax.

After it was over, Dean felt Cas sag against him. The weight of his human vessel and the enormous wings together would have been too much, except he used his wings to brace against the wall so as not to crush Dean into the tiles. Dean let one arm slip around Cas’ waist, and the other hand curled into the soaked feathers. He held the angel close for long moments, the water sluicing over them both.

At last Cas drew back. It might have been an awkward moment, a moment where they both blushed and stammered and decided to pretend nothing had happened between them. But Cas looked so bedraggled, so much like a pigeon caught in the rain, that Dean couldn't help bursting out into laughter. The angel’s feathers were soaked, and his hair hung limply down on his forehead, trails of water dripping into his eyes. He looked far from angelic. He looked, Dean thought fondly, fucking adorable.

Cas blinked at him, taken aback by his laughter. But Dean must have looked just as funny, for the angel's teeth suddenly flashed in his rare quick grin. He waved a hand at the shower, and the water cut off.

“I wasn’t through with your wing,” Dean said.

“I think it has been rinsed enough,” Cas answered. He looked at the walls, where his beating wings had cracked quite a few tiles, and waved a hand at them too, exerting his mojo to repair the damage. He stepped out of the shower, glanced back at Dean, and grinned again.

“You might want to duck.”

He spread his mighty wings and flapped hard, and water droplets flew everywhere. A moment later, the wings looked fluffy and gleaming white, and he folded them behind him.

“Don’t put those away just yet,” Dean said, stepping out of the tub and going for the more human method of drying himself with a towel. “Your feathers are still a mess. They need some serious straightening out.”

Cas lifted an eyebrow. “But Dean,” he said, a mischievous light in his blue eyes. “If you touch my wings again, more of this sort of thing may ensue.”

Dean scrubbed at his hair and grinned at the angel from beneath the towel.

“I’m counting on it,” he said.


End file.
